


Coach Lopez

by dagas isa (dagas_isa)



Series: Good, Dirty Fun [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Authority Figures, Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-17
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagas_isa/pseuds/dagas%20isa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Coach Lopez, and there's a beautiful, if dim, cheerleader in need of individual attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coach Lopez

Santana pulls one wine cooler out of the fridge in the garage, and brushes her other hand against the McKinley High Red polyester of her track suit. She takes a sip of the wine cooler and heads towards the basement. Too many things could go wrong today; her parents and sisters could decide that a trip to the zoo isn't half as interesting as staying home and working. Her Sue Sylvester impersonation could be so bad as to be hilarious or so good as to be downright creepy that she and her BFWB (best friend with benefits) just won't be able to get into the mood.

This is performance art, Santana thinks—a show that Brittany has requested and one that Santana thinks will be fun to put on. She has her costume, complete with whistle hanging from her neck. She preps herself with another sip of the wine cooler and imagines what her motivation is. Waiting for Santana at the bottom of a suburban basement disguised as a gym is a lovely and talented, if a bit dim, cheerleader in need of some extra attention. Coach Lopez is just the one to give this extra help.

Brittany stands in the middle of the floor. The usual cheerleading uniform hangs from her frame, and she brings her prop, a jump rope. Coach Lopez has her whistle and her secret weapon for training difficult prospects, a riding crop. The most important aspect of performance is not her look—honestly Santana doesn't want to look any more like Sue Sylvester than she'd want to look like a pterodactyl or Rachel Berry—but her bearing. Keep it brisk, snappy, authoritative, with a touch of sadism.

"Santana, you look like you combined my make-up skills with Sue Sylvester's dress sense," are Brittany's first words when Coach Lopez steps into the light of the bare bulb.

"You will address me as Coach Lopez, do you understand?" The rest of her statement needs no more acknowledgement than the light tap of the riding crop against her calves. "If you have the energy to smart off, you have energy to train."

"Yes, Coach Lopez."

"Time for an inspection," Coach Lopez says. The whistle blows shrill, and Brittany flinches as Coach Lopez lets it sound in her ear. "Assume the position."

Brittany gets down on her hands and knees and Santana—Coach Lopez—breaks character to smirk. "Not that one. This isn't about your small-town boyfriends who think doggy-style is a kink."

"But Coach Sylvester has us get in this position to lick the gymnasium floor after we fall."

Coach Lopez swats Brittany on the backside, this time harder than her initial love taps. "Don't talk to me about Coach Sylvester. You're in my gym. You play by my rules." She catches a glimpse of something red—good—and lacy—against regulations—beneath Brittany's short skirt. "Stand up." She punctuates the command with the sharp blow of her whistle.

Brittany gets to her feet. Coach Lopez, always willing to help those in need, corrects Brittany's stance. The riding crop adjusts Brittany's legs until her feet are slightly wider than shoulder width apart. Brittany's arms rise up. Coach Lopez takes a few admiring glances at this remedial cheerleader. Her ponytail is smooth and perfect and high on her head. Armpits are properly shorn. At a few taps of the riding crop against those bare, slightly moist pits elicits a yelp from Brittany before the cheerleader curls her lower lip under those teeth. Is it a good bite? Santana knows. Coach Lopez doesn't care.

The riding crop goes down Brittany's uniform, and Coach Lopez smirks at the look of concentration on Brittany's face. It moves over Brittany's breasts and her stomach, down the outside her legs and then up the inside of her thighs, and around the fabric of her skirt. They both know the indiscretion that hides beneath it, and disdainfully, Coach Lopez lifts up the skirt and reveals the offence.

"Are those regulation briefs, Brittany?"

"They're bikinis, Coach Lopez."

"Take them off. I will not have improper attire on my cheerleaders."

The red lace falls to the floor. Coach Lopez uses the crop to pick up the rule breakers. "It's carelessness like this that will lose us at nationals. Do you really want to flash the entirety of the UCA and ESPN? Think of all those forty-year old men sneaking behind their wife's back and jerking off to your underage ass."

"That would be awesome. Completely grody, but awesome."

Santana might agree. Sex is power. Pulling a stunt like this at Nationals is power at least before Sue would find out and get them both kicked off the squad, after she used the cattle prod on them. Coach Lopez, however, does not tolerate this kind of backtalk.

"Give me twenty. Boy-style."

Brittany drops to her knees and paws at Coach Lopez's track suit.

"Brittany, push-ups."

Brittany does the twenty, boy-style, while Coach Lopez teases her. Whether it's the immaculate sneaker between Brittany's shoulder blades or the occasional cracks of the crop against her exposed ass and thighs, Coach Lopez does what she can to distract her remedial cheerleader. All the while, any hesitation or wavering from Brittany brings a cascade of noise from the whistle.

"How was that, Coach Lopez?"

"Mediocre. Lacking spirit." Coach Lopez says, "if you want to maintain your spot on my team, you'll have to show me how far you're willing to go. Let's see some jump rope action. One-hundred in a row."

Coach Lopez sits down on that dingy brown folding chair, and watches as Brittany valiantly tries to do her one hundred consecutive jumps. Of course Brittany loses count, and when she does, Coach Lopez makes her start from one again.

Brittany does fall to her knees after what's likely to have been 500 total jumps. Ninety is her record, her streak only broken because Coach Lopez used her whistle to break Brittany's concentration.

"Sloppy! What are you? A Pekinese? Do you need to be carried around in a purse?"

"No, Coach Lopez."

"If you keep performing like this, you'll be kicked off the squad. Do you want that?"

Brittany lowers her eyes. "No, Coach Lopez." Her voice is quiet. "What can I do?"

"One more test," Coach Lopez sits down in the chair and motions for Brittany to come over. "Well, more like a bribe. If you want to stay on the squad, you're going to have to prove to me that you really want this."

Brittany sits on Coach Lopez's lap and lets her thighs straddle Coach Lopez's waist. "I really do."

"Prove it."

Brittany does, eagerly.

*

"How was I?" Santana whispers to Brittany after they're done having sex. Yes, she's Santana. A few body-rocking orgasms with her BFF tends to make the mask drop a little bit. She passes the opened wine cooler to Brittany.

"Like a toned down version of Sue," Brittany whispers.

Santana agrees. Coach Sylvester would likely have used a bullwhip.

"You were good though. I liked it."

Santana's fingers trace down Brittany's bare side, and she shivers when Brittany returns the gesture. "We can do it again sometime."

"That would be nice."


End file.
